


You Want a Better Story. Who Wouldn't?

by feverishsea



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 11:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverishsea/pseuds/feverishsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If I truly cared for him, I would let him go," Katrina murmurs, and then she swings her head up to look at Abbie. "Does it sound as though I believe it?"</p><p>"Not really," Abbie says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Want a Better Story. Who Wouldn't?

**Author's Note:**

> List of hopes for the rest of the season: KATRINA STARTS BEING INTERESTING. Also, more Ichabod/Abbie fodder, plz and thx.
> 
>  
> 
> [Where my tumblr lives](http://seatsreservedforheroes.tumblr.com/)

"You are not in your world anymore," a soft voice tells her. The accent is odd, all rolling edges, but somehow familiar. "I am not sure how you came to be here, though, for I did not summon you."

Abbie weighs her odds and sits up. She's in a seemingly endless room filled with bright white light rolling around in soft clouds, and yep, that's Crane's wife hovering over her with a small frown marring her otherwise perfect face.

"And yet, somehow not the worst news I've had today," Abbie says, almost to herself.

Katrina's frown deepens. "Worse? Tell me, quickly, perhaps we can puzzle out why you are here. Did something attack you? Is Ichabod well?"

The last question slips in like she can't quite help it; Katrina bites her lip but keeps staring at Abbie with worried, soulful eyes. Abbie's never been much for women, not even a drunken kiss in college, but she has to admit that Katrina is one of the most gorgeous people she's ever seen. It's a little disconcerting.

"No, sorry, it's not - Yeah, Crane's fine, my bad news isn't demon bad news." She gathers her legs under her and pushes to her feet, wishing she'd kept her thoughts to herself.

The frown fades from Katrina's face, but the intent look remains. "Oh? In that case, I may not be able to aid you, but... Well, we are here until something disturbs us. I would be happy to listen, if you wish."

Her expression is now full of badly disguised curiosity; Abbie swallows down a sigh. She doesn't want to talk about this, actually, but there really does seem to be nowhere to go, and when she looks at Katrina's flowing skirts she can't help but think about how long the woman's been here, and wonder how long it feels like.

"It's really nothing relevant, honestly. My ex got a new girlfriend, that's all," she says unwillingly, the intimacy sticking on her tongue.

Katrina's face crumples in sympathy. "Did he break your engagement?" she asks.

"No, no!" Abbie waves away the overabundance of emotion. "It's not like that. We're just friends now. Or, well, we were. Anyway, any ideas about... anything?" She looks around and takes a few experimental steps, but she can't see anything but white fog and gives up quickly. Better the devil you know is a phrase she's more intimately acquainted with than she'd like.

"Perhaps..." Katrina furrows her forehead and glances around nervously. "I could attempt to scry; to see where your physical body is now. Perhaps that could help."

Abbie shrugs and nods. "Yeah, sure, why not? It's not like we could just sit back and catch the game anyway."

Katrina shoots her a puzzled look but doesn't question her further. She spreads her hands around an invisible circle and concentrates. Abbie edges closer, and bites back a gasp when colors swirl into the space between Katrina's fingers.

"If I do this well - if the veil is thin - we will be able to hear, but I cannot promise it," Katrina grits out. Up until now, all Abbie's heard from the woman is breathy whispers; she's a little surprised to hear a thread of steel laced under her voice.

Both of them fall silent as the colors swirl faster and faster, growing more vibrant, and then in a sickening twist that almost gives Abbie motion-sickness, it all sets into a scene.

She hears Crane's voice before it registers what she's seeing.

"Ms. Mills!" Crane cries, sounding frantic. "Ms. Mills, please, wake up!"

Abbie almost opens her mouth to respond before logic kicks in, and she shuts it.

Because she can see where her body is, and it's not here, floating in this white void. It's back in the forest, her small frame sprawled over Crane's lap, her head cradled in his hands as he leans over her, begging her to wake up.

He runs his hand over her hair and checks for blood but finds nothing; he sets his fingers at her pulse point, but his fingers are shaking and Abbie's pretty sure that he can't accurately check for a pulse like that.

 _I didn't know he cared this much_ , Abbie thinks, wishing desperately to wake up if for no other reason than to stop Crane saying her name in a voice like his heart's been ripped up.  _Everyone he cares about is gone - all he's got is me. He must be so scared._

"Please, Abbie, I need you to wake up," Crane's voice breaks as he pulls her closer.

And then suddenly the vision is gone; shattered apart into a million tiny fragments of color before glimmering away into the fog. Katrina's hands are spread apart and her face is blank and shocked, like she's been slapped. Abbie knows without having to ask that she lost control of the vision.

Katrina turns her face away. Abbie can't tell if she's shaking or crying again or what, but she feels bad either way.

"Hey," she says, trying to keep her voice light. "He's just scared. It's not... um..."

Katrina whirls around to face her, eyes red but strong. Her face looks paler than ever; paler than the fog, even.

"No," she says, lifting her chin high and clenching fistfuls of her black dress. "No, I know my husband, and I can tell you that fear of loneliness would not cause him such despair. It is something more than that."

Abbie's stomach turns over; she doesn't know if she's happy, or afraid, or what. "I'm not trying to..." she starts, and Katrina smiles, or tries to.

"I do not mean to accuse you. It is only that I have been alone so many years here, with only the thoughts of my love to sustain me. I have given... everything for it, even things I did not mean to give. I do not regret them, but now I will die here, alone still, and the thought of it pains me."

"So you think you're going to die?" Abbie asks as gently as she can, because at the end of the day, Crane is still her friend, and she can't not look out for him, no matter how much sympathy she might have for this tortured woman.

"It seems likely, would you not say?" Katrina asks tightly. She sighs and the fight seems to drain out of her; her shoulders droop and her fingers release her dress, leaving clusters of wrinkles in their wake. Abbie really doesn't want to answer that question.

"If I truly cared for him, I would let him go," Katrina murmurs, and then she swings her head up to look at Abbie. "Does it sound as though I believe it?"

"Not really," Abbie says.

Katrina shakes her head; her auburn mane catches the light of the nothingness around them. Something about the way her eyes are narrowed tips her expression from sadness into anger. Abbie has no way of knowing, but she suspects this is something only she is allowed to see. She doesn't think Katrina would let even Crane see this, somehow. Maybe it's out of a desire to appear perfect, but then, maybe not - maybe it's another display of power from a woman who lived in difficult times. The less others know of you, even the people you love the most, the less power they have over you.

Abbie can understand that. It's more necessary still than it should be.

"It's okay to be angry," she says, the words falling from her lips like an echo. "You've lost more than any woman should."

Katrina gives a strangled laugh and ducks her head so that Abbie can't see her face anymore. "You are kind, though in truth a part of me wishes you wouldn't be."

Abbie shrugs and steps closer, against a lifetime of inclination. She rests a light hand on Katrina's shoulder and Katrina's head snaps up, her eyes huge.

"It's easy for me to be kind," Abbie says, not sure how much of the truth Katrina can hear; not sure how much she can afford to hold back. "I'm alive. I'm out there every day. It might suck some of the time - most of the time - but at least it's living." She shakes her head and stares straight into Katrina's eyes, hoping her honesty shows through. "I don't know how you've done this. If it were me, I'd have gone insane, or probably turned into a vengeance demon or something." She pulls a face; the words aren't really a joke anymore, not after the year she's had.

Katrina is just looking at her, perfect face perfectly unreadable. For a moment she looks as old as her years, somehow, her cares worn into the corners of her mouth and the color of her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Abbie says quietly.

Katrina relaxes fractionally. She continues to stare at Abbie until she jerks her head away and clasps her hands together, bone-white fingers entwining and squeezing.

"I cannot... I cannot bring myself to ask you to say it, but... if a moment comes, if there is a time when you feel it right... you may tell Ichabod I willingly release him from his obligations, that I give you my blessing, and I will not naysay it."

"Give your blessing to wha- Ohhhh." Abbie's cheeks flare with heat; she's glad they're dark enough to mostly hide it. This conversation is getting weird. Weirder.

Katrina smiles sadly and opens her mouth to speak again.

But the ground heaves; Abbie is thrown from her feet onto her hands and knees. She reaches for a gun that isn't there and tries to get up, but the floor shudders again and she falls flat. She rolls over onto her back and gets a single last glimpse of Katrina, far away now, shouting something she can't hear.

"Ms. Mills!"

Abbie's eyes fly open, and she stares up into Ichabod's wide, desperate eyes.

"Crane," she gasps, and the world slams into place around her again. All at once she can hear and see and smell normally again. The clothes she's wearing feel right on her skin; her gun is a heavy, familiar weight at her side.

She's still sprawled over Ichabod's lap, she realizes, just like in the mirror image. Well, that answers that question. Abbie misses the time when her dreams didn't end up being true.

"Oh Thank God," Crane breaths, and presses his cheek against her hair. After just listening to Katrina, suddenly Abbie can recognize the odd angles of his accent, the way the 21st century has sharpened and shaped his words. "How do you feel? Are you sick? We were walking, and you just... collapsed, and I could not rouse you. Have you any idea what happened?"

Ichabod is so much bigger than her; it just seems natural to lean into the warmth of his chest. When she does, his arms pull tightly around her, one arm running behind her shoulder so that his hand lightly grasps her wrist, the other settling at the small of her back. He isn't shaking or anything, but he's breathing hard, and guilt stabs Abbie in the gut. He's lost too much; she'll do whatever it takes to make sure he doesn't lose anything else.

Crane tilts his head down to look at her face, close enough that his breath brushes her lips. His eyes are half-closed; his hand is gripping her wrist more tightly, like he's afraid to let go of her. It seems a shame to hold back any comfort she could offer. She opens her mouth, and watches Ichabod's gaze flit to her lips.

"I must have hit my head when I fell," Abbie lies. She pushes gently at the cage of limbs around her. Crane's arms open automatically, too polite to hold her back, though his forehead furrows into a frown as she pushes herself to her feet. He scrambles up alongside her, legs as gawky as a young horse before he finds his footing. Abbie hides a too-fond smile.

"Are you well enough to stand? Do you wish me to carry you?" Crane asks. Abbie laughs out loud at that and holds out a hand.

"Definitely yes, and if I wasn't before, I would be now. No carrying."

Her puts his big hand in hers and she yanks him up. Before she can let go, his fingers close around hers, and they stand there staring at each other. "You would not be a burden," he murmurs. Abbie can't look away from his eyes; earnest and beautiful and too close.

But she does look away; she looks down and tugs her hand out of his grasp; when she looks back up he's smiling at her a little sadly. Her heart aches again, but she doesn't know how to fix this.

"Let's keep moving," she says, and they do.


End file.
